


Bad Dream

by wildwordwomyn



Category: Leverage
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Slash, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-30
Updated: 2010-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-12 08:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwordwomyn/pseuds/wildwordwomyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot is always rescuing Hardison. Even in dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Dream

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how graphic the violence in this story should be considered so I put the warning on just in case. Also, this is what happens when I don't sleep...

You're in that place between awareness and sleep, drifting. Walking somewhere on a white floor. You can't tell if it's indoors or out but there's a breeze and the distinct scent of dead leaves. Then suddenly a dark mist falls down like a blanket. Oh, you think, definitely dreaming now. Right as a hand reaches out of the mist and you know immediately that it doesn't come in peace. Veins rope around the forearm - when did forearms become menacing? - dangerously. Closer and closer the hand, the fingers, get to your skin. Your mind flashes some kind of siren call, you can see the symbol for bio-hazardous chemicals clear as day in your mind, when it lands on you. You know it's your own fault for not getting enough rest the past 3 nights but the latest edition of WoW was just released so you really can't be held responsible. Only you can because you made yourself vulnerable.

'Eliot?' you shout. 'El? Please?' Only if you can't hear your own voice how will he?

The hand grabs the side of your neck roughly, pushing you down on your knees. And that right there? That tells you who it is you're dreaming of. Tells you just how bad things will get if you don't wake up. Oh no. Nononononononono. It's a word stuck on repeat, constant, rising in desperation, in fear.

"Please...I don't wanna.....Pleeeeassssse........"

It doesn't take long for the hand to begin slowly ripping you apart limb by limb. You scream so loud, so hard, it breaks your ear drums but it doesn't stop, doesn't slow down, doesn't even hesitate in gripping your hip and crushing it before moving onto you torso. You can hear it, the crunch, the tearing, the wet slop of your body as the blood flows and your insides slide around.

When the hand pulls you into the mist you know what's next. You've dreamed this too many times before not to know. You still hate it though. Because it feels too much like the real thing when it starts to swallow you one piece after another. A slow lick, a slurp, moist heat - God, not again - as it consumes you.

"Eliot!"

"Wake up, Hardison. Come on, it's just a dream. It's not real. Come on, man. You're here now. You're safe."

Eliot's shaking you slightly, his blue eyes bright and full of concern. It takes you a second to realize you're awkwardly situated on the sofa, leaning halfway over a couple pillows as if you'd just crashed where you landed. You take a deep breath in, blinking quickly as you let it back out.

"...Nightmare...," you murmur. You rub a slightly trembling hand down your sweaty face, fighting still to surface. The dreams haven't been that bad in a while. You must be stressed for it to slip through.

"Yeah, Hardison. But it's over now." He smiles gently, his protective instincts kicking in. "You're safe right here with me."

"Safe?" You don't mean to make it into a question. It just happens. You're not sure you've ever felt completely safe.

Eliot sticks close to you for the rest of the day, getting things for you, checking in every once in a while to make sure you're okay. You don't blame him. You feel off, distant. Dissociated. Later that night, after you've played so many games that your hands hurt and you've drunk more tea than an old English dame he even climbs into bed with you.

"Uh, El? I think I got it from here." He quirks an eyebrow, seeing right through the lie. "Alright, fine," you pretend-sigh. "But if you accidentally try to kill me while I'm unconscious we're never having a slumber party again."

"Whatever, Hardison. Just shut up and go to sleep." He glares.

It might be the exhaustion playing tricks on you but when he lays down beside you you swear he spoons you, breathing warm puffs against the back of your neck. Solid muscle and yet you're not afraid. Not this time. Somehow his presence is relaxing. Comforting. You don't realize you've fallen asleep until you wake back up to hear him snoring in your ear. He must notice that you're awake because he tells you in an entirely too alert voice that it's just him, that you're okay, he's gonna protect you. And you can't explain why but for once you think maybe someone actually means that. Maybe it's not just words anymore. You smile in relief and gratitude, reaching out behind you to find his arm. You wrap it around you, pulling him in closer, and settle down into the kind of rest you've been needing for way too long.

There are no more nightmares when Eliot climbs into bed with you. And if, after a while, sleeping together each night turns into doing other things together, which then turns into somehow falling in love together, well, you figure if this is a dream it's finally one you'd rather stay in.


End file.
